


Into the Sunset

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Die Hard (Movies), Iskryne Series - Elizabeth Bear & Sarah Monette
Genre: Gen, Psychic Wolves, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scene from <em>Die Hard</em> where McClane and Bullet are temporarily reunited in the bathroom while McClane talks to Powell on the radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Sunset

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What to Do After Firing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/232546) by [Dira Sudis (dsudis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis). 



> Thanks to Petra and Iulia for cheering this on! And thanks to wolf-verse Ray Person for agreeing with me that this is totally the best part of the movie.

Powell heaves a sigh and says, "LAPD is no longer calling the shots." 

John, suddenly picking up on what pain has been hiding from him for the last few minutes, says, "Fuck, you stupid motherfucker, _no_."

Powell chuckles and says, "Hey, man, you know it wasn't _my_ call," but John just shakes his head as the bathroom door swings open and Bullet saunters in, a hundred sixty pounds of lead-gray wolf. There are blood-darkened patches in his fur, bites and lacerations John can feel just like every one of his own injuries. He sees as Bullet comes in that he's limping on his left rear leg, like John just pulled a shard of glass out of Bullet's paw rather than his own foot.

 _What the fuck use are you to me now?_ John demands. _My actual eyes and ears are already right fucking here, you know you gotta be somewhere else. You know you can't risk--_

Bullet raises his head high, giving John a yellow-eyed glare. He pushes back, complete and amplified, John's own very real fear of dying up here now that he's hurt like this, now that it's all gone so far. _Not alone. Never alone._

 _Come here, you fucking idiot_ , John says, and even in his mind his voice shakes. He stumbles down off the sink, dropping to his knees as his arms go around Bullet's shoulders, and Bullet's muzzle presses against the back of his neck, finally, finally covering the bare, vulnerable place he's been miserably conscious of ever since they split up in the stairwell, hours ago, a lifetime ago. They're breathing in time, and John doesn't have to check with his hands to know exactly how bad Bullet's hurt--not too bad, for taking out two of the five terrorist wolves. He's in better shape than John is, right now, though he's gonna need a big old shot of antibiotics later. God knows where those wolves' mouths have been.

 _God knows where your feet have been_ , Bullet responds, envisioning John getting just as big a dose. John laughs a little, wetly, and shifts back slightly to look at his brother.

"John?" the radio says, tinny and distant compared to the depth and warmth of the bond, but just as necessary. 

_Pack_ , Bullet agrees, with wordless contradictory overtones: distance and intimacy, littermates they've never met before, silence where pack-sense should be and yet a deep connection and understanding.

"John, partner, you still with me?"

"Yeah," John says aloud, "Yeah, hey, I'm here. Company showed up, I was distracted for a minute."

Bullet bristles at being described as _company_ , which means bad guys more often than Sunday visitors to cops like them, but he licks John's face at the same time. He knows why John had to say it that way, knows Powell will recognize what John means by the tone in his voice. He's pleased to be mentioned at last. John hadn't spoken of him up to now, and Powell hasn't asked about John's brother, knowing as well as John does that the connection had to be kept quiet. But once they twigged to his real name and him being NYPD, the wolf was pretty much out of the bag.

"Well that's a relief, partner," Powell says, and John knows Powell knows procedure for a firefight as well as he does. He knows Powell knows Bullet shouldn't be anywhere near him if they think there's a chance in hell of getting the wolf out alive, or any use doing distance recon. He knows Powell isn't relieved at all. "Ivy and I were pretty worried about you getting lonely up there. She wants to know if your brother's got a name."

John laughs a little. "Tell her _an east wind blowing over Jamaica Bay_. You can call him Bullet."

"I'll tell her, Roy--" John grins, knowing Powell's gotten the joke of John's fake name, "--but we've never been anywhere near Jamaica. We've got no idea what that smells like. Ivy's not going to be satisfied till she can get a real sniff."

It's Bullet's turn to huff a wolfish laugh, and John says, "Brooklyn, partner. Brooklyn. There's a wolf preserve on the islands in Jamaica Bay."

"Got it," Powell says. "That's a cold wind, then, huh? No sandy beaches to lounge on with the missus?"

"Not so much," John agrees, and Bullet stands up, anticipating him. John braces a hand on his brother's shoulders, standing up the best he can. Even with Bullet's support he has to stumble over and sit on the sink again, panting through the head rush. He's pretty close to not having enough blood to go around, and this isn't anywhere near over yet.

"Speaking of my wife," John says, "Al, there's something I need you to do."


End file.
